


the keepers

by foundCarcosa



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of the Elf Swap AU, which is basically an AU where seemingly nothing is different except that Marethari and Orsino have been swapped, and really, that changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the keepers

"Do you _know_ why I am here? Why I am a templar? Why I strove so hard for this station?”

"I could hazard guesses," Marethari responded mildly, habitually brushing the feathered end of the quill back and forth against her lips. "But I _would_ rather hear the story from you.”

Meredith scowled, disarmed again, but plowed ahead anyway. She did that quite a bit. “I know what mages are capable of. I watched an apostate turn into an otherworldly horror and butcher — _butcher,_ in the most casual and obscene sense — everyone we knew. Everyone we’d loved. Not because she hated us. But because she hadn’t been given the proper training, and she was preyed upon, and finally taken advantage of. Mages are people to you and me, Marethari, but to every entity in the Fade, they are simply vessels. Impressionable tools of destruction. It does great harm to be soft, to be lenient, and lose even _one_ mage to a demon.”

Marethari lowered the quill when Meredith stopped, and smiled faintly, as if remembering. “Do you know why I am first enchanter?” When Meredith shrugged, the elf smiled wider, and shrugged, too. “Neither do I. Maybe they drew lots from a hat. Maybe it’s because I speak so softly that it is assumed I’ll simply do whatever the knight-commander orders. But I like to think that it’s because I am your polar opposite.”

"And where does that get us?" Meredith snorted. "More arguing and less work getting done. I’m seeing the benefits already."

"When the Circle loses its faith in me — and it will, eventually, for I have no head for war, and war is very imminent…" Marethari smiled ruefully and nodded at the warily incredulous look on Meredith’s face. "Oh, yes, I know — magic is not only fireballs and transfiguration, after all, and I have always seen far. When the Circle loses its faith in me, it will turn to you. What I hope is that you will carry the smallest fragment of me with you, and let not your heart be hardened."

"Only a hardened heart can make the difficult decisions," Meredith countered, slowly.

"So they say," Marethari said simply, moss-coloured eyes drifting to one side as she watches their future unfold in still frames, flashing quickly on the stone walls. One image lingers the longest — Marethari standing resolute between two drawn swords, one of them inscribed with Avvarian runes and the other glowing an unnatural, lurid red.

"So they say."

______________________________________

"What will we do? We cannot let this go on! What happened to Tamlen will happen again, and worse, surely!"

"If only she wasn’t his First… how much of a fool can he be, to keep her as a First?"

"Only more reason to stand united against him," Pol said decisively, crouching on the stump of a tree, his angular face set resolutely. "He is soft-hearted and indulgent. His love for Merrill endangers the whole clan. If he favours one individual over the welfare of his clan, then why should he remain Keeper?"

—

"Maybe… the clan isn’t the place for you. You are intelligent, you have a far-seeing eye, but the work you are doing… your obsession—"

"Obsession?" Merrill repeated, wounded. _"Obsession?_ Keeper, this is _not_ about me! I am not toiling for my own entertainment!”

"No, no, of course not. That is… poor word choice. I simply mean—"

"You are afraid. Of _them.”_ Merrill huffed, folding her arms. “You are Keeper. Pol and the others can do nothing without breaking tradition. But if you fear them so much, if their opinion of you is so important, send me away. I’ll go… somewhere. Kirkwall, maybe. Find scholars at the Circle. Find the Grey Wardens, find Mahariel—”

"Mahariel is _gone,_ Merrill, and so is Tamlen—”

"Oh? Is _that_ how quickly your heart lets go of their memory?”

Merrill stared defiantly as the Keeper raised his heavy-lidded eyes to hers. She’d once thought him so wise, so patient, and _kind_ above all — there had been an unquenchable spark of good humour in his large eyes, a love for all life that seemed to evoke the benevolence of the Creators themselves.  
But the Eluvian had stolen that too, along with the Grey Warden who’d taken Mahariel away from them, away for good.

"We are _Dalish,_ Keeper,” she whispered fiercely, though her eyes were pleading. “We do not forget. And we do not cower in fear, whether of man or magic. Isn’t that what you said? Isn’t that what you always said? Why have you forgotten, Keeper? What has happened to you?”

Orsino had thought himself long past the point of tears, but he wept then, and he’d do so one more time before Merrill would make her sacrifice and Audacity would descend upon them, the demon-slaying Champion soon to follow.

_In the Fade, Tamlen sought Merrill’s astral body relentlessly, to warn her or to comfort her, but his mouth and eyes had been sewn shut, and he never found her._


End file.
